


Beloved, My John

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Sherlock is so in love, Sherlock's Mind, Sleepy Cuddles, Song Inspired, Songfic, honestly this came upon me and it needed to happen, i should be writing an essay, series four doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Sherlock lies on his side, counting John’s breaths, watching his bare shoulders move in the dim moonlight.One thing that Sherlock never expects or anticipates is the moments when he is overcome with pure, untainted love for this man.





	Beloved, My John

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been so long since I have posted a fic. I'm in my last semester of my undergrad so I haven't had time to write, but there is a few half written ones. 
> 
> Anyway, if you have never heard the song 'John My Beloved' by Sufjan Stevens, please listen to it before you read this [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVZUBMUekck)  
> It inspired this fic and it's beautiful.  
> Also the lyrics, which are important [here.](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/sufjanstevens/johnmybeloved.html)
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

> _I love you more than the world can contain_
> 
> _In its lonely and ramshackle head._

 

 

The night is cold, it is winter and this is London, this is to be expected. 

Sherlock lies awake in the room that is becoming increasingly familiar, in the bed that he now shares with John.

Sherlock lies on his side, counting John’s breaths, watching his bare shoulders move in the dim moonlight.

One thing that Sherlock never expects or anticipates is the moments when he is overcome with pure, untainted love for this man. 

 

In many ways, Sherlock believes that he was dead before John walked into Bart’s that sacred day, and into his life. 

He had just been a barely functioning human, a brain; minus the emotions and sentiment. 

 

John Watson. _John._

How he loves the man. Sherlock has said his name in so many ways; with reverence, love, affection, sometimes frustration, but always, always gently with a soft intonation. 

 

While Sherlock has deleted many things, including classical literature and poetry; John strikes him as art. 

Sherlock gladly cleared a wing of his mind palace for John. He likes to think of it as his mind turret; John is above everything else, safely locked away from gruesome murders and distressing cases and memories. John’s turret is sacred, just like the man himself and Sherlock can get lost there, he feels a sense of peace there. 

 

John makes him feel like the first time he saw an orchestra play, the first time he picked up a violin. 

Sherlock has composed countless pieces about the man. John has only heard a few.

Sherlock hasn’t shown him all the works yet, but he has manuscripts filled with the emotions he wishes he could convey every moment. 

 

John brought him back to life and suddenly Sherlock didn’t want to die anymore. He wanted to be with this man until the end. They solve cases, they save each other, they laugh in the hallway, and they touch each other so, so gently. 

 

Sherlock never thought that he would feel anything akin to love.

But here, in the moonlight he holds his breath as he watches John sleep. 

He reaches out and runs his fingers across John’s shoulders, he circles the bullet wound, feeling small bumps of soft, smooth skin where the shrapnel hit. 

He leans forward and presses his lips on the twisted skin, thanking the universe that this didn’t take John away from him, from the chance of meeting him.

 

John shifts slightly under Sherlock’s touch, his breathing is uneven for a few seconds, but it slows again as he remains asleep. 

 

Sherlock is not a kind man. He knows this, everyone around him knows it too.

In fact, they were always vocal about the fact.

But those comments began to die away the longer he lived with the man beside him. 

Sherlock still thought about how he was not a good man, but John seemed to make him more human.

Sherlock learnt emotions, he learnt that there was another world out there, with people who could be kind and not dangerous, those that had only good intentions. He learnt through John that he was already around these people; Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Molly, and even Mycroft. 

 

Sometimes he thinks he can still feel the ghost of the first press of John’s lips against his cheek: it was late, they could have died. It happened out of the blue, unpredictable just like the man himself. 

Sherlock could feel the world bend around him, it’s centre of gravity shifted so that John was his everything. 

There was a universe inside of this man and when their lips met it was not gentle, it was rough and it was desperate. Sherlock needed it more than air, and he was sure John did too.

They fell together that night, and they caught each other. 

They have yet to let go, and Sherlock is certain that he won’t until his last breath, a large part of him hopes he is John’s last breath too. Even if that is a bit not good. He does not vocalise this, but he thinks John knows.

 

Sherlock would never have guessed that the human body and brain could contain this much love and affection. Sometimes he is sure it doesn’t, sometimes he feels the affection overflow, perhaps if it spread through the air the world would become softer and safer, but he wraps it all around John. 

 

He would die for John. This is no secret. 

 

Sherlock realises, uncomfortably, that perhaps he doesn’t tell John he loves him as much as he should. 

He does, breathlessly and sincerely when he does. John seems to know.

What John cannot possibly know is the fact that this world, this treasured solar system cannot possibly understand and contain his love. His body already is already unable to do so. 

 

Sherlock can hear a plane fly overhead, at one point he would have known Heathrow’s timetables and in turn, would have known whether the flight was inward or outbound. 

But now, he is content and at peace. 

He watches John, he listens to him live and breath and exist. 

 

Sherlock’s eyelids are heavy and he can feel the gentle tug of sleep. 

He leans into John’s neck and kisses the bare skin gently, the aim is not to wake the other man.

“I love you.” 

Confessions in the dark in hushed voices, it was often their way.

“I love you too, you idiot, try and sleep we might have a case tomorrow.” John’s voice is hoarse and quiet, it takes Sherlock off-guard, he had not heard John’s breathing change, he had been sure he was still asleep.

 

John rolls over so that he is facing Sherlock. His eyes are half open, full of sleep,but he is smiling and it causes a warmth to swell in Sherlock’s chest. 

In the moonlit room, John shifts so that he is chest to chest with Sherlock, the heat of their skin touching. 

John drapes his arm around Sherlock’s waist and closes his eyes again. 

 

Sherlock feels as through his heart is swelling, he reaches out and runs his fingers across John’s laughter lines and he notices the smallest twitch of the other man’s lips. 

Sherlock moves his head a few centimetres and presses his lips against John's, another gentle kiss, one that he hopes conveys all that he feels. 

He melts into John, and closes his own eyes. 

They sleep peacefully. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you need to find me, [this](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr.


End file.
